The Road Less Traveled
by grumkinsnark
Summary: "My mama told me, ever since I was seven, 'hold your head up high'..."


**The Road Less Traveled

* * *

**

_She's seven, and little Caroline Forbes (this is before they become friends, you understand) shoved her around a bit, called her a loser, and when you're seven, that might as well be a stab through the heart with a rusty blade._

"_Hold your head up high," her mama tells her, wiping Elena's tears. "Hold your head up high and don't look down, don't look back. Promise me, Elena."_

"_Okay, Mama."_

The words stick with her throughout her life, her mother's voice clear as a bell inside her head. She doesn't feel sorry for herself, because her mother wouldn't want her to. She's always been told to hold her head up high, and by God, she's done that.

Hell, it's one of the reasons she chose Stefan. Not just because he was there, but because he's a _good choice_. He won't let her down, he won't betray her, he's the safe one. He makes her feel as though there is no reason to look anywhere but up, but forward.

But as she sits in the boardinghouse, in front of the fire and writing in her journal as has become her custom, her mind wanders. Despite her mother's words, she looks to her right, where the other brother, the _wrong_ one, rests (though, admittedly, Elena has no illusions he won't wake with the slightest awry sound). Even in sleep, he looks dangerous, the bits of hair that fall over his closed face, the lax way he lies, all of it belies its innocent appearance.

And yet…she's seen the opposite. She's not an idiot—she knows he's still dangerous, still the exact kind of person her mother warned her about. He's killed, he's tortured, he's taunted, he's done everything to be labeled Bad. But he's also saved, he's comforted (albeit his version of it), he's compromised, he's done things that can be unmistakably labeled Good.

She's not sure exactly what her mother would say to that, what she'd make of Elena's thoughts, but Elena realizes that, for once, perhaps her mother wasn't unfailingly correct. Damon's not by a long shot the obvious choice, nor the reasonable one, and God knows he's miles behind Stefan in terms of _safe_ and _right_; he's precisely the person who requires her to look down and backwards.

A gruff "Stop staring" jolts her from her troubled musing, and she blinks as her eyes meet his, the blue a glinting black in the room lit up only by the fire. "It's creepy."

She manages a breathy chuckle (_she's_ the creepy one?), and replies, "Sorry. Just…thinking."

"Nice to see the change of pace. Don't want to get boring," he comments dryly. As her thoughts begin to drift again, he sighs. "Need to share? Or are you content just staring some more?"

Elena hesitates, somewhat unnerving herself that she's not counting down the moments until Stefan gets back from checking on Caroline (_She's new, Elena. I just need to make sure she's okay. I'll be back soon_), that for the immediacy, she's entirely fine to sit here with the _wrong choice_.

"Just something my mom told me years back," she says. "'Hold your head up high.'"

Damon waits for more, but she doesn't supply, so he says, "That's it? 'Hold your head up high'? Kind of vague."

Elena frowns. She…hadn't really thought of it that way before. "Give me a break. I was seven," she snaps. "I took it as gospel."

"Yeah, well," replies Damon, moving into a sitting position and wincing a little as he straightens the kinks in his shoulders. "I think that's stupid. If you only look up, odds are you won't see the shitstorm coming. Much easier to get stabbed in the back if you're not looking there."

Elena feels she should get angry, get downright _pissed_—this is her _mother_ he's talking about—but finds she can't. Because, as much as she hates to admit it, he's right. She acknowledges her mother's meaning, but…Damon has a point, too. She doesn't _plan_ on getting stabbed in the back (or, preferably, anywhere) anytime soon, but, especially now she knows what all's out there, better safe than sorry.

Damon groans at her silence. "Fantastic," he says in frustration. "You're upset."

Shaking her head slowly, Elena counters, "No…you've, uh…you're not wrong."

"What?" Damon asks, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Elena glares. "Catch this," she retorts, and throws a pillow from the couch at him.

He does, as they both knew he would, and the smirk stays put. "Just saying," he elaborates. "In my experience, it tends to be more…fortuitous to keep an eye out. Never know what you might find."

Elena looks into the fire briefly, a smile of her own making its way onto her face. Her gaze slides over just in time to see him toss the pillow back to her, and for him to ask, "When did Stefan say he'd be back?"

"Why?" Elena inquires. "Sick of me?"

"Not quite yet," Damon replies, moving onto his back and closing his eyes. "Do me a favor, though: don't just hold your head up. Give looking backwards a shot."

Elena knows Damon wasn't putting any alternate meaning behind his words (for once), but she can't help but find one anyway. She loves Stefan, unerringly, and she's _not_ Katherine, but…well, somehow, the other Salvatore had made a permanent residence in her heart. Even in spite of the deception, manipulation, and betrayals along the way, he'd somehow managed to sweet-talk his way in there.

_Maybe I was wrong_, she writes, glancing quickly up at Damon again. _Maybe Mom was wrong. Maybe Damon isn't the guy I thought he was._

_Maybe he's…better._


End file.
